The Rise of Robin-Hood
by InDaHood
Summary: A certain scampish street kid's world takes a nauseous turn. For better or for worse has been a question he'd asked himself as the years pressed on. He finds that he wishes he knew whether or not anyone else wondered the same thing, or cared. Follow Jason Todd's life and death's twists and turns for better or worse. Starting with returning to the scene of the crime...(on Hiatus).
1. Chapter 1 - Big Boobs and Education

Despite the pleasant, sunny afternoon weather, a boy, no older than ten, wanders Crime Alley with a dark, moody disposition. He'd adapted to street life well, all things considered. He knew the way the streets worked. He knew the way he had to work to survive. To be honest, though, he was struggling. Not even the inviting warmth of the sun would lift his weary spirits. He hated the thought of stealing from somebody, but for some reason everybody seemed nervous. He doubted the predators of the night would be reaming his ass that evening. He didn't know whether to be relieved or worried, but the latter seemed to be the feeling that was ailing him on this day. A day that should be cheerful. The streets were nearly vacant all day, and it made the boy-Jason Peter Todd-anxious. Something big was happening. It had to be. Well, whatever. He'd lasted this long.

He'd been scavenging the streets for anything that he could sell, eat, anything. He was used to the bite of hunger, but he needed to eat soon. The lack of nutrition was paining him more than usual, and that is never a good sign. The sun set a few minutes ago, and it was getting dark. He was running out of options. He'd peered around every street corner, slapping a tire iron gingerly against his palm habitually, looking anywhere he could think of for the regular pimps who had special interests in those who weren't exactly legal, but couldn't find anybody. It's useless, it's all useless. He was stupid, shouldn't have even brought the tire iron. He was hungry, tired, and irritated by his surroundings. Nobody.

Then he came upon something amazing, beautiful, his ticket to a meal. "Woah, girl," Jason whispered in awe, inhaling a sharp intake of breath, "I'm gonna take good care of ya," he inched closer to the vehicle. A smile was threatening to perk up to a cheeky grin. Good thing he brought the tire iron along after all. Well, at least he knew why nobody was around. The Batman scared 'em off. The Bat couldn't scare Jason, though. He was gonna take his cake and eat it too. There was nothing to lose.

After working with it for a while, he'd successfully boosted two tires from the infamous Batmobile! Jason couldn't believe it. He didn't really care too much for the vigilante, didn't help him any, but he could appreciate the worth of these tires. "I hate to leave you all by your lonesome," He had to be swift. No time to dawdle. Get these back home, and your troubles are over! "So I'll be back," he scooped the tires up, hugging them into his form while he made off.

By the time he arrived, his lungs were burning and his weariness seemed to weaken him, but he'd done it. He'd boosted the Bat's tires! He, a lowly street kid! He would have squealed and ran in circles if he had the energy. Instead, he lightly smiled, then ducked back out into the streets, ready to pilfer the last two tires.

He crept along the Batmobile's trunk, but flinched a bit melodramatically-although he'd never admit that-by the sight of the Batman himself, in a crouching position in front of the bare hubcaps, appraising the situation. Jason's mouth hung agape, struck dumb by the absurdity of the situation. He didn't know what was worse. The fact that he was standing in front of the Batman, or that he'd been caught red handed. One thing was for sure-Jason didn't like this situation. Not a bit. Their eyes met. Well, Jason only saw white lenses, but scrutiny was fair game. "Well, come here to finish the job, boy?" Batman's gruff voice masked any amusement he had over the situation terribly, but thankfully for him Jason didn't understand that.

"Whoops," Jason replied lamely.

Batman stood in all his glory, towering over him._ It would be menacing if his underwear was inside his tights. _Jason thought, denying any panic to cloud his judgement. Right, it was time to improvise. If he could just evade the Bat, he could go back home and hide. Then when The coast was clear, he'd sell off those tires. It was a plan, right? Much like a child who had been caught nabbing cookies from the cookie jar without permission, Jason tactfully hid his equipped tire iron behind his back.

"You're going to give me back my tires," Batman said, hands on hips all authoritative like.

"Who says I took 'em?" Jason retorted. He couldn't help it really, he just had this tendency to spout out whatever's at the tip of his tongue. That's fine, too, because he's not died for it or nothing. He's lived out here just fine, thanks. Batman didn't seem convinced as he shifted his weight to his right.

"What other reason would you use that tire iron for?" He challenged. Well, he was in for a surprise. Nobody's messing with Jason Todd.

"This!" Jason remarked, driving the tire iron into the Batman's gut, scurrying off like the skittish bastard he was. "You just try and catch me, ya big boob!"

The Batman allowed himself a sly smile. "You little son of a gun," he uttered, still recovering from the blow dealt unto his stomach. It was shockingly fierce. The idea that someone-let alone a child had managed to throw him off by such a cheap shot was embarrassing. Although, he couldn't deny that he was impressed. He even admired the little urchin for getting by his defenses. As eager as he was to confront the kid, he knew he would eventually lead him to his stolen white walls, and whatever home the child sheltered himself in. He wondered briefly what the kid's parents did with their time, but he pushed that to the back of his mind in favor of the final confrontation. He had tailed him to his home after all.

Jason checked behind him as he turned the doorknob and scuttled inside his little apartment. It was nearly empty, with posters splayed on the walls that were caked with cracks and age. A few material items here and there, a small mattress lain on the ground. Wasn't much, but he at least had something. Jason sighed contentedly, flopping on the bare mattress , fumbling around in search of some smokes. He lit one up, and took a long, satisfying drag. Fuck, he really needed that. His lungs were burning and his nerves were grating from all of that adrenaline. "That'll stunt your growth, kid," a voice rang out from the corner. Oh shit. Jason practically leapt ten feet in the air, keeping as much distance from the intruder as possible.

"Take your lousy tires and go already!" He fussed, pointing at said tires with a look of total contempt, "just go, and lemme alone!" Great, that just encouraged that damned assertive hands-on-hips-I'm-important stance from the brute. And what's this? Oh, hell no! He is not closing the distance between them!

"Son, do you live here?" Batman asked, open arms in a gesture that indicated the entire room. Like Jason needed all that to understand what fancy underpants was talking about.

"Yeah! What of it? It's mine, and I like it," Jason huffed indignantly, crossing his arms in a flustered pout. As irony would have it, Batman had mirrored the position, but unarguably more relaxed, right behind him. This act was seriously unnerving Jason.

"Where are your folks?"

"I don't know where my pop is, prolly doin' time again," Jason grimaced with gritted teeth.

"And your mother?"

"She's dead, okay?!" Jason spat, "now get outta here!" There was annoying, and there was adults. They have a lot in common. "Or do I have to make you?!" Jason roared, whirling around in attempts to pummel the intruding vigilante with his fist, only to be caught by the wrist, and lifted off of the ground, to the Batman's eye level.

"You're a scrappy one, that's for sure," he referred to the child wriggling in his grasp. Jason glared, promising himself he would inflict much bodily harm on this swollen tit of a crime fighter. "Why don't you come with me?"

"Mama said not to walk with dumbass strangers," Jason sassed, but nonetheless discontinued his unruly struggle in favor of rest, as uncomfortable as it may have been. Ya know, hanging suspended in the air for so long isn't comfortable. Jason expected some sort of heinous retort about his mother, but was surprised that he was gingerly sat on the ground, the Batman jerking his head in a beckoning motion. "What, no 'You kiss your momma with that mouth'?" Jason muttered under his breath. They both scooped the tires up, making their way down the balcony and to the streets below.

"I'm afraid it isn't enough to just give me back my property-"

"You're gonna just fink to the cops, huh? Figures."

"Not the cops. I do think we need to tell the juvenile authorities about you,"

"Social services? Aw, gimme a break!"

Batman had instructed Jason to place the tires where they rightfully belonged. So he'd been on his knees, working with his tire iron again. Then this conversation was thrown out there."I can fend for myself just fine! I know how to make it on the streets-And I like it here!" He jerked a thumb towards himself, determination dancing in his gaze. "I don't want to wind up in some crummy orphanage, or some foster home where I'm somebody's pet charity case! I'm my own man! Me, Jason Todd!"

"Jason Todd, huh?" The Batman inquired closing the distance between them again. "That's a fancy handle for a street kid. How long was your mother sick?" The way Jason tensed didn't go unnoticed from the Bat's watchful eye.

As uncomfortable as he was, Jason replied, "Over a year-I found her food and stuff, kept her warm and alive-as long as I could," a hand on his shoulder. This was not happening. The Batman, squeezing his shoulder in an attempt at what? He had Jason's undivided attention, well, for the most part. Jason liked to focus on the tires, or the ground, or his hands. The tire iron was especially interesting. Better than those damned white lenses. There was no way Jason would believe that the Bat was trying to comfort him, especially after continuing this interrogation.

"What about school, son?" Jason almost growled at his own weakening resolve. He eyed the gloved hand still present on his shoulder, his eyebrows furrowing in discontent. Son. He called him son. Why did grown ups do that to address little boys if they weren't really their son? It always pissed Jason off, and this time was no exception.

"I graduated years ago-from the streets of Crime Alley," he ground out hastily, his eyes widening a bit when he realized he had finished placing the last of the tires to their rightful place. Great, now the Bat has his full attention. No luxury of multitasking present. He shrugged off the hand on his shoulder, careful to distance himself from the careful gaze the Bat was giving him. Jason's green orbs flashed in his direction, but he was careful to look away. Probably looking for an escape route.

Imagine the Batman's surprise when Jason finally turned to him, glaring right into the white lenses. His eye twitched peevishly when Batman closed in on him again. The boy was uncomfortable with physical contact, and very wary of his presence. "Let's make a deal," Batman offered, "no social workers, no cops. However, you must go to school," Jason still gave him that suspicious eye.

"What kind of school?" He inquired carefully.

"Ma Gunn's school for boys. It's right here at home, in Crime Alley," A tough bargain, Jason decided. He cupped his chin with his hand in deep thought, considering. He didn't like the idea of meeting any other street kids. He preferred his relationships brief. He'd share his scraps or something, but going to some school would be no different than meeting up with some gang you don't know anything about.

Then again, if he didn't comply this freak was gonna get the cops or social services involved. Jason didn't really trust social workers or cops. He didn't delude himself into thinking that he'd ever be adopted, and he certainly didn't want more on his record. He found himself wishing-not for the first time-that he was old enough to be recognized as an adult. That way he'd be expected to care for himself, and he wouldn't be thrust into the hands of people he didn't know. Either way he felt hopeless. Choices, choices.

"Well, I hear that it's better than real school," Jason considered. He had this urge to just throw his head back and laugh at the idea of an education, but settled for a smirk. He couldn't believe it. School. He was going to attend a school. It would've been a good laugh if he had someone to share it with-and no way was he gonna share it with this bozo. S they shook on it.

When Jason found himself in front of Ma Gunn's doorstep with the infamous vigilante, Batman, a lot of things ran through his mind. Mainly complaints, he couldn't deny, but he shocked himself considerably when he realized that he was getting hopeful. Odd. He was actually looking at this situation, and picturing himself as a successful middle class man. You know, flying to the moon and being a rock star, acting, singing, drawing, teaching-he almost giggled to himself at that-professional athlete, the list goes on.

He snuck a smile to the man beside him, who was currently climbing up the stairs. Jason followed behind him like a lost puppy-well, an ironically chipper lost puppy, and eyed the door as Batman knocked. Jason forced his happy thoughts to the back of his mind when Ma Gunn appeared, and she and Batman struck into conversation. "Sorry to wake you, Mrs. Gunn," he'd greeted.

"Faye Gunn is always up for a new enrollee," she had assured. Jason's cautious demeanor returned, and his repeated idea pumped into his brain as he remembered how he came to be here. It wasn't exactly of his own choice. Maybe kids like me can't be trusted to care for themselves solely because grown ups don't allow them to try. Jason didn't like this woman. He couldn't place it, but something was off. Something has set off the warning triggers of his judgement. Something that's come in handy in the past. Jason decided to size her up.

On the outside, she seemed like any other elderly woman. You would expect her to slip you home made cookies before dinner, to tell you tales of her youth, to influence the youthful with advice and wealthy knowledge. But no, Jason didn't expect that from her, because he expected that from nobody. He never even knew his grandparents, whoever they were. Maybe that's why he could see something off about the way she smiled.

It wasn't warm and welcoming like it was supposed to be, but contemplative and cocky. At least, sometimes. She seemed to be luring him into a false sense of security. As Batman explained the situation and Jason was suddenly involved in the conversation, he ended up scolding himself. She was just some old lady, some old teacher. What's she gonna do to a spunky youth like Jason Todd? Besides, she seemed nice enough. She even got him to laugh, something that hasn't happened often.

Jason bit back a smile. He almost wanted to thank Batman, who was hinting at taking his leave. Almost being the key word. There were two reasons he didn't. One, Batman seemed to just dump him off somewhere without real regard for doing anything else. This one was kind of silly, Jason had to admit. The second reason; as soon as he entered with Ma Gunn, he was greeted by four students-more like goons, threatening him with weapons. Two guys blocked any escape from behind him, one to his left had nun chucks, and another to his right had a knife. A fucking knife. Well, shit. Just what the fuck was this?

His widened eyes fixed on Gunn, she was speaking. "We've got a new pupil, loves," she said, taking a drag from some fag Jason hadn't noticed until now. "The Batman sent 'im. So who wants to snuff the little stoolie for old Ma?"

Bullshit.


	2. Chapter 2 - A Robin, Not a Pigeon

Deep mounds of bullshit. You see, this is what happens when you allow yourself a false sense of security when you're a street kid. Especially when other street kids are involved. Jason felt like the shit he was mucking in. He has let this wrinkled old hag that smokes fags drag him along into a trap. Not to mention those damned kids-all bigger than him-were taunting him, closing in on him like he was a worm.

"We'll all learn 'im how to hold his breath underwater for an expensive amount of time!" Gee, they didn't learn much. Even Jason knew that wasn't proper English.

To say the least, he wasn't intimidated by their threats. He was cautious, but not scared. This was a matter of brain versus brawn, and he was confident enough to assume he had th brains to get himself outta this mess. So when the guys with fancy hats closed in on him front and back, he jerked backwards, elbowing the dumbass behind him and kicking the guy in front of him. Whilst they clutch their guts in agony, Jason swiped the guy furthest from him with his hands folded together, so his knuckles slammed into the fuckwit's chest.

He didn't stick around to appraise his work though, he was making off to run over Gunn's screeching voice. "Get him!" Jason panicked when hands managed to grip into him. His struggling was pretty much futile. Some guys he hadn't noticed before had all tackled him so he could get better acquainted to the sweet floor. It didn't stop him from trying to overpower the guys on top of him, but s efforts proved fruitless when his hands were held behind his back. He was lifted to a standing position, coming face to face with the nasty old hag."You're a spunky little bloke, I'll give ya that," she smirked, revealing her nasty old teeth.

Jason hated doing this, but he had no choice. "I ain't no stoolie," he replied hastily, "Batman ain't no friend of mine-I stole his tires!" Great, he had her attention. Maybe he could get outta this mess. "He promised he wouldn't turn me over to social workers if I came here,"

Oh, Jason just wanted to wipe the smirk off of her face. "Find him a bunk, boys. Always room for a promising pupil," then Jason began to have his second thoughts. No, wiping the floor with her would require far too much physical contact, and damn was that hag nasty.

"C'mon, freak," one of the kids beckoned, pushing him forward to his bunk. He hated this school already.

Jason fidgeted in his seat, looking into the lesson at hand. Ma Gunn was showing off some sort of chart, which had various guns on it. "What are the advantages of and automatic over a revolver? Eddie?" Ma Gunn asked. This Eddie guy walked up to the chart, pointing out the things he was referring to.

"A revolver don't hold as many slugs," he concluded mechanically, a stupid smile on his face.

"'Doesn't hold,' love. What else?"

"You can't silence a revolver, too much gas and stuff around here," Fucking teacher's pet, most like.

"An automatic jams on you sometimes, though," some other kid interrupted. It was adorable really, how everybody tried to impress Gunn. And by adorable, Jason meant positively sickening.

"An automatic, true-Freddie?! Is that a cigarette you're smokin'?!" Oh boy. Jason was too young for high school drama.

"Yes, M'am,"

"How many times have I told you?! Don't do dope!" Slap. Right across the face. Jason's brow furrowed. Gunn was pulling out a bottle of alcohol. "Stick with booze, boys! It was good enough for my sons-rest their souls-" Wait, she has had children? Were they dead? "And it's good enough for you!"

"Thanks Ma!" That dumbass, Freddie practically squealed, reaching up to claim the bottle.

"Not today, boys! With what I have planned, you'll all need a clear head!" She chided, waggling a ragged old finger. "And don't you all want to be alert when we go down to tour the art museum this this afternoon,"

Jason sat at his desk, fingers knitted together and chin resting in hands, his brow furrowed over the stress of this new situation. _This old dame is batty, _Jason decided. Well, desperate times, desperate measures. He needed to get help. Maybe Batman? Well, it wasn't like he could march up to the GCPD's rooftop and turn on the Batsignal. Right? Sneaking out was one thing, breaking and entering was another. Damn, school was tough._ All right, forget the Batsignal. Maybe something that just screams, lookit me! Jason Todd! _

That night, Jason decidedly dropped out of school. Now, somewhere obvious. Okay, maybe he wouldn't have to. Maybe he would just drop by sometime. Whatever the case, Jason wasn't gonna walk to the GCPD or anything like that. When he spotted a car parked just at the front of the school, he decided it was as good as anywhere else. Hopefully it gets his attention, or else Jason would have to remove more tires.

He smirked. Well, if the Bat so happens to ignore this, he could always boost the tires. That was big dreaming and he knew it, but it gave him a happy feeling inside, and that was good enough for him. Jason traveled back home, sitting on his mattress, listening on his old MP3 player contentedly. He liked it here. It was really the only place he felt comfortable unwinding in. Whatever happens now, happens. Jason sighed, leafing through an old photo album. He didn't know exactly who these people were, besides his mom. No names were documented. He was never photographed either. He leaned his head against his wall after leafing through its contents.

The atmosphere was so unfamiliar in them, and it was painful. They all looked so happy. He forced himself to close the album and toss it aside in the general direction he found it in. He settled for listening to his mp3, and shifted into a more comfortable position. Admittedly he was dozing off when someone snatched his earpiece away from him. His eyes shot open and he jumped back, startled. Well, it was about time! Too bad he'd been stuck with putting the tires back in place again.

"You didn't keep your end of the bargain," Batman chided.

"Like hell I did!" Jason spouted crankily. "Saves you the trouble!"

The Bat looked so confused Jason would have been amused if he weren't so shaken. "What?"

"Some school you enrolled me in! A kindergarten for crime, more like!"

"What sort of nonsense-"

"Hey, I don't wanna learn to be no crook-I just boost what it takes to survive!" Jason justified, standing to face the Bat once he'd finished. "Ma Gunn's planning a heist tonight at that old museum,"

"You expect me to believe-"

"I don't care what you believe!"Jason interrupted, "Just 'cause I'm a kid from Crime Alley don't mean I'm a liar! Believe it or not, some adults aren't saints, y'know! Give or take, I don't give a shit," Jason concluded, crossing his arms indignantly. The stupid stubborn Bat could believe what he wanted. Jason didn't care. Really, he didn't. He'd just bust 'em himself! Who needs the Bat to breath down their necks anyways? It was a stupid idea!

So when another voice came to the scene, offering the Bat unnecessary praise, Jason took the liberty of heading off to the museum himself. People give that guy way too much credit, Jason thought. He had just eluded the Bat with no trouble at all. The oaf didn't even realize he was gone. Didn't even care.

If the Bat was gonna show, he'd still get there first. He had a car he could drive. Jason had to travel on foot. Asshole has all the shortcuts. When Jason had finally arrived through the skylight, hIs thoughts entertained the stealing the Bat's tires just to spite him, but he didn't feel it was very practical.

The museum was huge. He wasn't sure he'd be able to find them at first. That is until the signs distinctly pointed out the direction of the jewels. Yeah, pilfering a museum must be easy-so long as you know how to cheat the security.

At that thought, Jason started to regret coming here in the first place. Looks like the cops and social services will be involved after all. Jason shook himself out of his negative thoughts. No, he had to do this. The world wasn't justified, but he'd carry out some much needed justice tonight. He was proof that the world had hope. There had to be other people like him, that stood up for the right thing.

Maybe people like Batman. As he'd drawn closer, their voices came to his ears easier. Apparently Gunn planned to sell them to the Joker. Jason didn't know much about him, other than he was a whacko staying in Arkham Asylum, but he'd only known that because of Gunn's students. They gab so much. It's a wonder they got this far at all.

When Jason heard signs of a scuffle, he hurried along, making sure to stay hidden so he could plan out his tactics. So Batman came after all. Well, that makes things easier. Admittedly, he'd be in a lot more trouble if he did this alone. Well, Batman had most of them-including Gunn-down, but still. The thought is what counts, right?

More than the thought. Another one of Gunn's students was standing high up on a pillar, ready to throw a crate full of something at the Batman's back. "Look out, Batman! Behind you!" Jason cautioned, but winced when the Bat was hit. The thought counted, right? Oh well, he could recover. But only if that gun Eddie, the culprit, didn't shoot him with that little pistol first. Well, it was high time to goad. "Need a hand getting down from there, Eddie?"

He was already making his way down. "What're you gonna do about it, stoolie?"

Jason chucked his shoe at him, and he dropped the pistol, thankfully. Jason used the opening to sock Eddie in the jaw, his knuckles grazing against the smuggler's teeth. Jason wiped the blood from his hand on the side of his jeans indifferently. "Huh, never pasted a jewel thief before," he noted. At the sound of movement, he eyed the Batman. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine-and Jason, you did fine," he answered, standing up. Jason just didn't understand it. Why the praise? More importantly, why did he want to beam at the man before him? The praise shouldn't mean so much to him. He never cared what adults thought.

"What are you doing here, son?" There it was. The son thing. Was it endearment? He certainly didn't wanna ask or anything. Jason bit his lip, remembering he was being asked something. What did he say? His mind ran a mile a minute, trying to jog his memory for their earlier exchange for clues. Nothing.

"Huh?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh...um," Jason stalled. _Slow down tiger, just think. Breathe and think, all that junk,_ Jason scolded himself. "I didn't think you believed me about the heist," he answered, thankful for the Bat's patience. _Breathe._ "So I came here to stop 'em," he explained, patting himself on the back mentally. He didn't say the first thing that came to his mind, which was mostly along the lines of 'doing what you were too busy to do, until now.' Or something much more uncouth.

"You could've called the cops," Batman said, tying the smugglers up for the police to pick up later, while Jason retrieved his shoe.

"Ha! I ain't no stoolie! 'Sides, where's the fun in that? What an adult thing to say!" Jason allowed himself to giggle openly, but hid his lurking smile with his hand.

Batman stood and turned to the child, his lip twitching upwards in mild amusement. "You're ornery," he remarked.

"Nah, I'm Jason," Jason imitated Batman's authoritative, hands-on-hips pose, but Jason's snarky smile ruined any chance-however slim-at being intimidating. "I thought we've already established this,"

"We've established that you're an indirect stool pigeon," Batman dismissed as the two made their way outside.

"Am not!"

"How did you get in?"

"Ha! I won an argument against the Bat! Woohoo!" Jason blocked Batman's path in the hallway, blowing an obnoxious raspberry. Batman raised an eyebrow under his cowl. The kid was being so much more open compared to the last time they met. Or maybe this behavior is more natural for Jason, given any circumstance?

"How did you get in?" He asked again, not sure how to respond to Jason's energy. Jason bounced back beside him, clearing the path.

"Same as you; the skylight! I saw your car parked out back," Jason replied smugly. Batman closed the door behind him, eying the vehicle carefully.

"I see my wheels are intact-" Jason would've addressed the infuriating inquiry if other things weren't on his mind. Not even the adrenaline from before could keep the boy's caution from dictating his mood.

"Hey, can I split before the cops show?" He asked hopefully, his green orbs widening and his mouth agape as if his own question shocked him.

Batman surely didn't know what to think of that. The boy's demeanor changed completely as soon as they arrived at the inevitable exit. "Why don't you ride with me?" He suggested.

Jason tried to mask his excitement as best he could, but a child with pent up energy could only do so much. "You mean it?" He kinda not really gasped. At that moment he didn't care if he was going to be turned into social workers. He was going to ride in the Batmobile! With a nod as his only confirmation, Jason climbed into the vehicle and wrapped his seat belt around him. The seatbelt buckled with a click, and Jason wriggled around in attempts to settle down.

When Batman joined him in the driver's seat, Jason snuck a glance at him, forcing down his smile. Batman's white lenses retracted, revealing concerned, oceanic eyes. Jason didnt say anything more though as Batman started the car. Jason looked out the window, his energy taking an anxious turn. He had to know where they were going. Just had to. "Um," he began cautiously, "you know, I don't think I have much of a chance," he said, his voice so soft it was hard to believe he'd said that.

Batman gave him a reassuring glance, but made sure to watch the road as he drove them wherever he planned to drop him off. Jason took that as permission to go on, "I mean, who would wanna adopt a filthy street kid like me? I'm nothing to gush at," he mumbled. This was too much to take in. "Most kids that are brought in to social workers don't get adopted because the chances are so slim," he prattled.

"Don't bet on it, Robin,"

Jason sighed solemnly, "Ain't got no cash to bet," he sunk into the passenger seat sleepily, but something kept nagging at him. Jason sprang up, widened, soft green eyes staring at Batman inquisitively, challenging the world if he had heard wrong or not. Batman refused to look at him, silently challenging the boy to say something.

"Robin?" The boy finally croaked, his mouth hanging open in awestruck befuddlement. The boy felt something shoot through his chest. Something that made him want to squeal, to laugh, something. Jason fought it, really he did, but he couldn't help the toothy grin from lighting up his face. Batman had the weirdest smile of his own. A small curl upwards, but a smile nonetheless. The rest of the ride was spent in companionable silence, the crack of dawn highlighting a brighter future.

"Robin." Jason confirmed with finality, testing the name with a click of his tongue.


	3. Chapter 3 - I'm Broke as a Junkie

The light sound of the Batmobile's humming engines lulled Jason into a comfortable doze. Jason hardly noticed that the car had stopped. It wasn't until the sound of the engines faded into quiet, save for the roaring sounds of waterfalls slapping tote ground, that Jason recovered from his stupor. He felt the Batman's eyes on him. "We're here," he said.

Jason rubbed his itchy eyes. "Where?"

"The Batcave," Batman answered, suddenly at his side. Blinking his dry eyes disbelievingly, Jason unbuckled his seatbelt, joining Batman outside of the car. All weariness seemed to slip away at the sight before him. He was really here. The Batcave.

"Wow," Jason gaped, "wow, wow, wow!" No detail of his surroundings escaped him. "This is insane," Jason forgot himself in this new fit of elation. No holding back, the kid was blathering excitedly, asking question after question about the trophies and technology around him. He wanted to swallow as much information-no, all of the information he could, because it was right at his disposal-right in front of him, behind him, beside him.

Jason had lost himself so much from the heat of the moment, that he had tried to-and succeeded-in dragging Batman to the cave's inner garage. "This is so cool! Look at this! How fast does it go? Is that the batplane?"

"Slow down, chum," the Batman interjected, "don't be so hasty. Take it one question at a time. Besides, we will have plenty of time for that. Right now, we have some things to discuss,"

"Oh," Jason flushed, regaining his wits, "what kinda stuff? Important, right? I mean it should be important, because I just have this feeling-and believe me, I feel it-it's important," Jason stopped himself when there wasn't any response, "oh, right, sorry,"

Jason followed Batman, who'd beckoned him to a workable of sorts. He was motioned to sit down. Jason did so, sitting face to face with Batman. "Am I in trouble already? I didn't mean to fall asleep, really,"

"Not at all. We just need to go through some things," Batman reassured, pulling back his cowl. Jason's eyes widened.

"Oh, fuck," Jason swore, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything personal when I picked your pocket that one time, I swear,"

Bruce Wayne-yeah, playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne said, "That isn't what I was talking about, but since this issue apparently needs addressed, I didn't miss the money anyways. Now, the matter at hand. I want you to understand, no one can know that I am Batman. This is a secret that you mustn't tell anyone,"

Jason breathed a sigh of relief, "I won't tell anyone," Jason promised, "I don't have anyone to tell anyways," Jason had been sure to add hastily, so that the loneliness didn't show. Nothing could be hidden from Bruce, though, as Jason was coming to learn. The slouch in his shoulders was enough to scream, 'this makes me so sad.'

Bruce merely nodded, not pressing the matter any further. Jason was thankful for that. The guy gave him space, which was undoubtedly what he needed right now. "So, this Robin gig," Jason began, "when do I start?"

"After you've completed your training," Bruce answered simply.

"Training, huh? So when do I start that?"

"As soon as you're fit enough,"

"When's that?"

"When you've gained some weight,"

"How do I do that?" Jason grinned impishly.

"Alfred will prepare a special diet for you," Bruce answered, his lips quirking upwards. The kid was being inquisitive for a reason. It was an obnoxious reason, but a reason nonetheless.

"Alfred? Who's that?"

"Our Butler,"

"We gotta Butler? Oh, so fucking cool!" Jason would have bounced in his seat if he weren't so tired, but his excitement was still clear.

Bruce cleared his throat and cleverly hid his smile. "Now, I wouldn't curse in front of him, he's quite stern and old fashioned,"

"Aw, is he as uptight as your undies, old man?"

"I'm serious-"

"Exactly!"

Bruce chuckled, "yeah, yeah. I'm not that old, and I'm just giving you a fair warning; no cursing in front of Alfred,"

"So where is he?"

Another clearing throat. "Master Bruce? Is this that young lad you mentioned before?"

"The one that stole my tires? Yeah, this is him,"

"Oh, wow! You're so cool! So you're Alfred?" Jason asked, ignoring the exchange between the two.

"I am," Alfred answered fancily, bowing before Jason.

"I presume this young chap will be staying, Master Bruce?"

"Yes," Bruce replied, standing up.

Jason didn't understand why he was so excited to be with these two adults, but maybe it had something to do with his surroundings. Well, it was the Batcave. He had every right to be excited, fighting back yawns or not.

"I know you're probably tired, Jason, but maybe you should try to eat first," Bruce said suddenly, shocking Jason out of his thoughts.

"Huh? I'm not-" yawn, "'m not sleepy," Jason grumbled. There was no way of convincing Bruce. Hell, it was kind of stupid to say that, but yeah, he was tired. Give him a break.

"Of course you are," Bruce argued, "you've been on edge since I caught you stealing my tires, and I'm sure you haven't slept well back at Ma Gunn's place," he reasoned.

Dammit, logic. Jason couldn't argue, he was too droopy eyed to even tell where he was anymore. "Master Bruce, might I ask when his checkup will be?"

"Tomorrow, most likely. We're going to have trouble getting him to eat when he's so sleepy,"

"Very good. Shall I lead him to the dining room?"

"Yeah, I'll prepare his room in the meantime,"

Jason rubbed at his eyes and scowled. "'M Jason," he slurred drowsily, making eye contact with Alfred.

"Very well, Master Jason," Alfred stood beside his chair, pulling him out of it and supporting a weakened Jason to his feet. "Shall I lead you to the dining room?"

"Sure," he sighed. Any other time, he would be embarrassed to be supported by someone else like this, but now he was so tired he couldn't tell half of what was going on. He didn't know where all the adrenaline and excitement disappeared to, but he missed it. Picking a feet up was enough of a chore. His ankles ached and the soles of his feet were sore inside his sneakers. He hadn't noticed how sore he was everywhere, actually. He'd grown numb to the pain of living in the slums.

Suddenly he was slumped down into a chair. If he wasn't convinced he was in the middle of a dream, Jason would have gaped at the dining hall he now found himself in. As it was, however, he was convinced he was dreaming for once, instead of screaming in his sleep. "Now, Master Jason, eat your soup before it gets cold," the Butler nudged his shoulder lightly. Alfred knew from the looks of the boy that he needed to eat, and his lack of appetite was concerning.

Jason blinked, eying the food with huge eyes. It was merely chicken soup, but to a street kid like him that would fuel him for the next three days. He felt awake now, for the most part. He grabbed a spoon, scooped into the bowl, and brought the soft broth to his lips cautiously. When the soup splashed against his tongue and traveled down his sore, dry throat, he practically coughed over the relief. It wasn't long before he brought the whole bowl to his lips, chugging the warm liquid hungrily, practically choking himself in the process, much to Alfred's displeasure.

It wasn't long until Bruce joined them again, offering to show Jason to his room, which was confirmed by a firm nod from the groggy boy. Alfred, at the time, was intent on handling the dishes, or something. Jason couldn't care at the moment. He wanted to fall to the floor and pass out. Bruce led him to his room. Jason's eyes fell to the bed. There were neatly folded pajamas lain over the bed, probably courtesy of Bruce. Jason smiled wearily. Here he thought rich boy couldn't be orderly.

Tired or otherwise, Jason was shocked at the size of the room. This was like his entire apartment, except it was his room, right? "This is really my room?" He asked, disbelief obvious by his tone.

"All yours," Bruce nodded, "I suggest you get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow,"

"W-wait!" Jason stuttered, panic he didn't understand teasing his chest as Bruce began to make his leave. "I-um, Mr. Wayne?"Jason's bare feet rubbed against the fancy carpet. He'd taken his shoes and socks off when he first arrived.

"Just Bruce, Jason," Bruce insisted, "do you need something?" He asked, facing the flustered boy.

"Right, um...I don't-I mean, what I mean to say is-" Jason couldn't understand it. He'd never been so tongue tied around anyone, much less an adult before. He didn't get any of this. How could a street kid like him be welcomed into a place such as the Wayne Manor? Sure, he was excited, but this couldn't be real. If it is, there has to be a catch. This is too good to be true. Jason knew, if something was too good to be true, it just wasn't to be. Why would things be any different? "Why?" He asked, finally. A question that will bring much pain to him one day, he was sure. Was today that day?

"What?"

Jason was exhausted, but he had to know. He had to have something stable to hold on to. He needed to know what this was. "Why did you do it?"

Bruce knew what the boy meant. He had to, because his reply was just enough for Jason. For now, he could move along with this new life, based on the words of Bruce. "Jason, sit down," Jason sat on the bed. Just like a dog, he thought cynically. "Jason, have you ever asked yourself why I do what I do?"

"Plenty of times," Jason answered before he could stop himself, earning a rueful smile from Bruce.

"When I was a boy, I had spent most of my time-my thoughts around bitter revenge. I wished nothing more than to hunt the scum who murdered my parents that day. My birthday. I watched them, as they breathed their last, agonizing breath. I travelled the world, pushed myself to impossible limits, and somewhere along the line, I found another way to channel my anger. My need for revenge was overpowered by my need for justice.

"I took that pain-that loss, and channeled it into something much larger than myself," _okay, let's review. Orphan, criminals are a superstitious and cowardly lot, bat suit, yeah. I hope he isn't saying what I think he is._ "Jason, I feel that in many ways, you've already done the same. Our reasons and different lifestyles may make this hard to believe, but I understand your situation,"

_Shit. So he is. How the hell does a rich guy understand a street kid? This sounds nothing remotely resembling reality._ This conversation was not helping Jason's unease at all. "I don't understand," Jason muttered.

"Don't get me wrong, Jason. I don't know what you've been through. This isn't just sympathy, I promise. I know this is difficult for you. This is like a new world to you, I realize that. I may not know what you have lived through, but I can empathize with your situation. I understand that you've been hardened by the streets. I'm here to offer you a future,"

Jason had been staring at his toes throughout this little heart-to-heart. Only now did he look up. _Because I'd just be your everyday crook otherwise, _Jason thought solemnly. He didn't want Bruce to think that. What was Bruce supposed to think, though? Instead of voicing his bitter thoughts, Jason shifted uncomfortably. "Thank you." He said, gratefully. His voice was so weak it was a mere whisper, but surely Mr. Wayne heard him. He had to. Or else he wouldn't have nodded at Jason before he left him to change into his new pajamas and curl painfully into the horrid blankets of sleep. He only hoped the nightmares wouldn't wake him or anyone else tonight.


	4. Chapter 4 - What the Fuck is This BS?

Jason's eyes shot open. They were strained from lack of rest. He'd been dozing on and off. He just couldn't stay asleep. He would blame it on the unfamiliar surroundings, but they were too comfortable to worry over. He would blame it on nonexistent noises, but that's what they were; nonexistent. He would blame it on nightmares, but he'd only had one so far. So Jason decided it was just one of those nights.

Jason really missed his mother. But on nights like these, he needed his mother. He could never ever go back to sleep after a nightmare without his mother's consolation. It was one of those few times she was focused enough on him that he got attention, but that wasn't the important part. Although, the attention was nice. Just another thing he would miss sorely. Now that he was at this huge Manor, the streets couldn't distract him from the loss he had yet to come to terms with.

But why would Jason seek revenge just because of his mother's death? Nobody murdered her. She overdosed. There was nothing and no one to blame but the drugs and his own mother, which left a bitter taste in his mouth every time he thought about doing so. Or maybe that was just the taste of the tears that dribbled to his lips. He couldn't tell.

Jason knew this was too good to be true. Living with Mr. Wayne. Being Robin would never earn his keep, and if being a street rat isn't horrible enough, if he were to learn how filthy Jason really was, he'd never live it down. Batman or no, he couldn't help but question the older man's motives. He'd tried to explain why Jason wasn't just a charity case, but it still felt that way. How could a rat like him have a future? Jason didn't understand it.

All he could really channel into being Robin would be his sorrow. Maybe this was all just a phase. Yes, the anger would come soon enough. To be honest, Jason didn't know how to handle sorrow. It wouldn't be long before he gets frustrated from all of these conflicting emotions. What could he, Jason Todd possibly do for Batman? For Mr. Wayne? What could someone as unimportant, as, lowly as him do for a billionaire? He didn't know what he could do for himself. Jason's face contorted into a painful bout of frustration. The taste of his bitter tears burns his tongue from where he'd licked his lips, and at that moment it took every fiber of his being not to scream, or gag, or rip his eyeballs out of his sockets, because the shear amount of sorrow that deluged from his tears glands were tickling his cheeks, irritating him further.

Of course, he'd mastered self preservation. But this environment is far too safe for such things. He could do all sorts of things for himself. Self preservation just isn't exactly the same in a Manor as it is out on the streets. So far he hasn't had to sell himself here, so far he hasn't had to steal or anything. Mr. Wayne had told him it was time to heal. Jason still wasn't so sure what all he meant by that. The morning ahead was going to be horrible, Jason could just tell.

Jason didn't care though. Right now he hadn't anything to distract him from the trauma that was his life. He had no idea what to do with this. He had no idea how to deal with these emotions, but now that he'd started weeping, he found he couldn't stop. It scared him, scared him more than anything. Right now, he had no control over himself. He burrowed beneath the comforter, clutching his literal security blanket in a vice grip, to the point Jason was sure his palms would be bleeding, what with how tightly he squeezing into his clutched blanket.

He'd managed to be silent throughout the entire breakdown. He had cried so hard that he couldn't breathe, but he still didn't gasp or whine. He sniffed a few times, panting breathlessly. He had never felt so numb to everything. He'd never thought that being so numb could be so painful. He needed something solid, something real. Like Catherine. Mom.

Every intake of breath passed him by. The oxygen just wasn't satisfying. A cold sigh passed through his nose, and then he could breathe again. He rubbed at his sore eyes, groaning softly to himself. No tears could bring her back. No tears could heal his sorrow. No matter how many tears he had shed, none would be enough, and none would cleanse the bitterness he had for his mother. Jason despised himself for it.

**Breathe.**

**Breathe.**

**Just think.**

Jason leapt out of bed and into the darkness of his room. There was no use trying to go back to sleep. Mr. Wayne would be awake still, most likely. Or maybe he could go to the butler. It didn't matter, he needed to distract himself. He needed to stay calm, but all he wanted to do was scream until his throat ruptured. So angry, but at what? There was nobody to blame, nobody to hate. Nobody to hate but himself. That wasn't right, though. Jason had done all he could. He knew that. He shut the door behind him, looking out into the halls. The manor was huge. He would be lost if he didn't have noises to follow.

Alfred and Mr. Wayne were talking, probably. When he grew nearer,meh decided to sit back and listen. He didn't want to intrude, and he wasn't even sure he wanted to be seen anyways. He didn't feel like explaining how cowardly he was, crying like a little baby over some nightmare he didn't even remember, or his mommy.

"I don't know Alfred, this is private. I think it is best to let him tell me when he's ready," Jason recognized the voice to be Mr. Wayne.

"Very good, Master Bruce," the other voice, Alfred, replied. Private? Him? Were the discussing him? Did they find out? No, of course they did. Why weren't they marching into his room, tugging on his arms, and dragging him out the door yet? Jason felt like crying again, but he resolved not to. He would face this head on.

"Tell Mr. Wayne about what?" Jason asked carefully, making his presence known. He twiddled his thumbs nervously, biting his lip, which began to itch uncomfortably with dread. Bruce-no, Mr. Wayne, stood from his chair, careful oceanic eyes assessing in Jason's posture. The boy was beyond nervous, more like distraught.

Jason could feel Mr. Wayne's eyes digging into him, and that didn't do anything to help his unease. Bruce was speechless, and Jason didn't know how to approach the situation. He felt trapped. "No, don't answer that," Jason snapped suddenly when Bruce appeared to ready a reply, "it's about my police records, right?"

"Jason, it is not my place to judge what-"

"No! There's no excuse!" Jason interrupted. He would have suffered from fear of his own disrespect, but his own anger destroyed any fear. He respected Mr. Wayne, unlike other adults, his opinion meant something to Jason. Acknowledging this made things harder. "I'm filthy, unruly, stinky, and over all, a disgusting leech! I know that, okay? So, I'll go willingly. I'll go, okay? Nobody will take filth like me, and now you understand that. It's okay though. I'll break out anyways, and then I'll go back to the streets, and I'll be back where I belong. Im sorry for the trouble," Jason couldn't breathe. Couldn't even think. He choked on the air when he tried to.

The butler, Alfred, was quick to clasp the boy's shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. "It's alright, Master Jason," he assured, "just breathe, that's it,"

"Jason, you're not going back to the streets," Mr. Wayne added. When did he kneel to Jason's eye level? He nodded to Alfred, and the butler left Jason with Mr. Wayne. Bruce shifted in front of him, rubbing circles into the boy's shoulders. "You're not going anywhere, because you're where you belong,"

Jason avoided his gaze. "You can take the kid out of the streets, but you can't take the streets out of the kid," he philosophized. His voice cracked, and again he felt it was someone else talking to the man before him. Jason Peter Todd did not falter. He didn't hesitate. He said what he meant, and didn't regret it.

"Maybe so, but that doesn't matter. Not to Alfred, and certainly not to me,"

"I swear, I did what I had to," Jason's breath hitched, "I didn't like it," Bruce knew the boy didn't want a response at this point. "It didn't feel good, it hurt, so why does everybody think I liked it?" Bruce's heart swelled. This boy had probably seen more and been through more than he or anyone else ever had. "Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce nodded for him to continue. "Yes?"

"I know that," Jason hiccuped, "I know I'm beyond forgiveness, but-" Bruce shushed him, massaging the kinks of his tight shoulders and neck, earning a grunt for the efforts. "I'm sorry that you have to see me, a total eyesore, when your life is so busy," Jason persisted regretfully. "I'm sorry for trying to steal your tires," Jason felt dangerously close to crying again, "I'm sorry for being so dirty," Bruce shushed him again.

"Jason, you were doing what you had to do to survive. I do not blame you for that, and I certainly don't blame you for your acts of prostitution. I won't shame you for that," Mr. Wayne led him to the chair he was sitting on previously gazing down at the pained boy. "I certainly won't force you back to that either," he promised.

Jason's eyes were shiny with their own promise of tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt you and Alfred earlier," he sniffled.

"Geez kiddo, back off," Bruce ruffled his hair, "give yourself a break. You didn't interrupt us. Come on now, I told you earlier to come to me if you need me. Use some of that self preservation you've used on the streets for your own recovery. You deserve that much and more," Bruce said, straightening out the boy's ruffled hair affectionately. For a moment, Bruce could have sworn Jason leaned into the touch.

Jason wiped at his dampened eyes and gazed up at Bruce with purest admiration. Admiration he'd never had before. Sure, there was always his mother, but she never really paid him any attention unless he was literally suffering. More than suffering, actually. This man had just accepted him despite what Jason was, and promised him shelter. He could never repay this man. Right then, he was convinced this man had saved him from a painful, slow bout of starvation. Jason knew. He wasn't stupid. He would lose all hope eventually, and collapse into the arms of death if not for this man. That was what he believed anyways.

He should have remembered not to grow so fond of authority. Because that's what authority was. Authority. Authority suppressed individuality and stunted the growth of personality. It was more than authority Jason would scorn. When Alfred returned with a glass of water and a warm washcloth, Jason didn't have any doubts. In fact, doubt hadn't surfaced for the longest time, leaving Jason festering with rebelliousness. Or maybe he was finally growing up. Jason stayed with Bruce and Alfred for as long as he could before he was lead back to his room.

He didn't care, but soon enough little nudges of authority would become painful. He should have remembered that rule. He couldn't help it though. He felt so close with Alfred and Bruce. He even openly smiled around them. He squealed with delight and excitement. He laughed and quipped along when Bruce was training him, even through the worst bits. Throughout his time at the manor, Jason's body became so relaxed. Pains he didn't even know he had whisked away and he finally began his training to be Robin.

The future was promising. What, Jason didn't know. It was a good thing he didn't. If he knew of the longing, the shaming, the victim blaming that would soon alienate him from what he loved most like I do, I fear of what he would do. What I would do. When I look at Jason-or, myself, I cannot see myself. I see so much hope and trust in him-in me, that it can't be me. There is no way I looked at Bruce that way. There is no way I gave him all I could. But I did, and that's why this memory, this vision, this delusion-whatever, is so painful.

Why do I kid myself? The boy is me. Jason is me. I am Jason Peter Rojo Todd. It seems you've caught me at a bad time. You see, I'm busy dreaming about the past. Even though, I guess you're just another of my demons. Why else would I be addressing you? Welcome to the dream before the nightmare, I guess. Why fight all my inner demons when I can just blanket myself with them? I'm a demon of the night myself. An ideology, kind of like Batman. But not like Bruce. I know the difference between my ideological self. Well, it wasn't my idea, but more like my ironic twist to the idea. It's sort of cheap payback, but you know, I'm getting off track. Hehe, I could be a poet if I wanted, huh?

I know you're asking yourself, 'what the hell is going on?' But I assure you, I don't know either. Bare with me or get out of my head. You're just another damned voice I don't need. Jason, Bruce, Alfred, Dickie-bird, Replacement, Demon Spawn, Roy, Kory-everybody probably has their own voice in my head outside of reality. Some can say I'm insane, but I prefer to say I have a strong connection to my subconscious psyche. Again, getting off topic. I'm not like Bruce. I don't hide behind the Red Hood. I hide behind every fiber of my being. I hide behind Jason Todd.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Trots

Jason had finished his daily training exercises, still psyched and energetic, hopping from foot to foot as he made an excited trot to Bruce. Instead of that familiar I-got-a-bad-case-of-the-trots scowl, hehe, his lips were curled slightly upwards, and his brow was relaxed. I remember this. Jason's-my most naive moment. "Bruce, are you going out?" I asked, my eyes wide, but not the oh, I'm so fuckin' high type wide, but oh, what now, your highness, type wide. Yeah, I was a bit far too enthused about pleasing Bruce to the point it was unhealthy. Let's not bring that up, okay? It brings itself up enough as it is. I mean, I worshipped the very ground Bruce stood on. It was surprising that by then I was comfortable with calling him Bruce. I finally felt worthy, I guess.

So much trotting after training. Okay, okay. I'm gonna shit myself if I don't stay on track. No, no. I'm done. Just done. Oh fuck, can't think. Can't breathe. Good old irony's a great coping mechanism of mine. Sorry, sorry. Not funny, I know. Trotting, though. You know, people had told me way back when that I wasn't touched in the head with ADD, but I had a huge imagination. Yeah. That made things complicated. Not really, I made that complicated, but I digress.

So yeah, Bruce had this huge-no, I mean really small shitty grin on his face for once in his miserable playboy life. Me being the genius detective's protege, smelled something stinky afoot. Trotting from foot to foot, smelling something smelly. Shit. Trots. Hehe. Okay, maybe not shit eating, but poon tang slurping for sure. Poon tang is such a fun word. Sexy word too. Ugh, okay off topic here. No need to go there. Not yet, anyways.

"Yes," the playboy bastard said, and my face fell. It was lonely in the manor. No matter what welcome company Alfred was, I always entertained myself with books and my old mp3 which was a real piece of shit by now because I dropped it in water this one time so it blinks like those lights in Vegas whenever I turn it on and I get this bigass headache looking at its screen. I suppose I could have asked for a new one, but I didn't want any more charity than I already had. "Oh," I said lamely.

I was already busy looking around the room for Alfred, so I didn't notice Bruce's reaction. Sure enough he was around, face all stoic and indifferent. He carried folded articles of clothing. Red, green, and yellow. Wait, oh yeah. The dorkiest moment of my life. Check. Most physically painful moment of my life. Check-back later. So yeah, I look up at Bruce, not just to Bruce-surprising I know. Okay, okay. I was doing both. Shut up, head. Speaking of heads, shouldn't there be another head to remember? Ugh, it all hurts to think about.

"Today's the day?" I asked incredulously, earning a bumbag playboy vigilante's nod of silent confirmation. His damned face was stoic now too, and I don't even give a shit. I just start prancing around like a dumbass. I'm so fucking glad I wasn't wearing the pixie boots yet or I swear I would face palm if I just fucking could but I don't even know what the fuck this is anymore but all I can do at the moment is writhe in pain.

"Today's the day, today's the day!" How fucking redundant, Jason. You are a fucking dumbass, Jason. Oh yeah, I'm Jason. I'd be depressed but I'm busy screaming at the moment. Soon I can hear myself singing. Cute. Really cute. Annoying, but adorable. Except, um, kind of scary, with my screaming and my singing-or his singing-my singing? His screaming?

"Oh wow, are you taking me with you? Are you? You are, aren't you?" I'm making my head hurt worse. Maybe the kid isn't me. Maybe the kid is the Question. Fuck, it hurts.

**"I don't know,"** asshole replies with a fucking chuckle,** "you'll have to get dressed first," **wait, just wait a fucking minute. Pause, replay, anything!

I was at the street corner, right? Or on the way to some old hotel, some pedo fuck was gonna pay me, right? "Fucker, you strangle the snake way too fucking much," I remember muttering, "your car fucking stinks," he either ignored me or didn't hear me.

I was just asking him, "When are you gonna pay me? I mean, other than the night here?" I fucking swear that's what that ass-reaming, mentally deformed cooter said-the same damn thing.

A smirk,** "I don't know," **the guy smelled of chocolate starfish and anal sex-ugh, redundant-**"you'll have to get undressed first,"** fucking smooth.

No, no. Wrong memory. I had just received the Robin suit, right? Right. Well, way to go Bruce, you just made me remember something disgusting. That's fucking disturbing. So I hurry off to change, and I check myself out. Whoever thought this suit up was either a genius or a sadist. I'm leaning more towards the latter, but back then I was dead serious about the former. I looked fucking hot and my ass was squeezed in just right, alright? Just shut up, shut up, I was sexy, I am sexy.

I giggled like a madman, ducking behind the Batcomputer banks mischievously. God I was fucking evil. "Okay, let's go!" Bruce's voice rang out all over the cave and the bats above us squeaked in response. "If you can't suit up quickly at home base, I'm concerned as to how you would handle it out in the field!"

"Perhaps he's primping," Alfred quipped helpfully, "Master Richard spent nearly half an hour admiring his reflection when he first donned his cape, as I recall," ah, Alfie. But yeah, that certain head I'd forgotten about. I remember now. Dickhead. Richard Grayson, likes to be referred to as a penis for some reason. He's more than a dickhead, he's also a dumbass.

"Jason!" Bruce shouted all authoritative like again, "get on out here or I'll go on patrol without you!" He taunted mockingly, coaxing me out of my hiding spot. I landed between Bruce and Alfred as noisily as I could, roaring like a lion's cub. Get this-Alfred actually dropped all the fine china he carried.

"My word!" I loved spooking Alfred. I still do. I did? I don't know, but Bruce was a plus.

"Haha, gotcha!" I beamed at Alfred, then at Bruce my eyes alight with utmost delight-poet thing again-from behind my red domino mask.

"Would've, if I hadn't spotted you slipping behind the computer banks three minutes ago," Bruce smiled, sipping his caffeinated beverage that hadn't suffered the pain china on the floor did.

"Nah, I got ya!" I argued, pointing at him with a gloved index finger.

"So how does it feel?" He asked.

I make a show, throwing punches and kicks into the air excitedly, "It feels awesome!" I embrace the cave around me, my arms open, repeat. "Check me out! I'm Robin! The Boy Wonder! Are you kidding me? This rocks!" No, no, Jason. A rock is something I wanna hit my head with right now. Jason-I, bound up to Bruce, "C'mon old man, we've got bad guys who need chasing!" Kill me now-kill me again?

"This is the best day of my life!" I scream.

Is it sad that the demons I dream are my only friends?


	6. Chapter 6 - Scalding, Inflamed Betrayal

To say that I was ecstatic when I finally began patrolling with Bruce would be a shameful understatement. I wasn't all enthused because of helping people or nothing, not yet, but when I first began patrolling with the old man, I was just eager to please. Eager to gain praise, to be as powerful to him as I felt. I wanted to prove that I was worth the legacy, and I wanted to be everything I could be. Bruce believed in me, after all. Somebody believed in me. Somebody wanted me around, and that was enough reason for me to dedicate my entire life to that person. In which case, Bruce.

I had trained with Bruce for six months. It seemed like a long time to me back then, but now-whenever now is-I realize that was just childish impatience on my part. I don't fault myself for it, because I've learned to contain childish excitement and giddiness. It won't affect me in the future.

That part of me, the part that liked to sing and prance around is buried deep inside, hiding somewhere. I don't even know where. Maybe I'm being too hopeful to say that I know that part is still inside me. The way my life is flashing-no, stabbing at me before my eyes-or my mind's eyes-is enough to convince me that its gone forever. It's not entirely my fault, its just that the things that could heal me and bring me happiness could never, ever, happen or exist in reality.

Bruce's training program was vigorous, rigorous, and tested all of my physical and mental limits. Even though I'd been trained by the best, I still can't endure this pain-I couldn't then, or now-but I tried, I am trying. Those six months of training had made many mysterious twists and turns. Not as twisted as the future was to hold, but at the time it felt almost torturous. I was over-exaggerating, I realize now. My threshold of pain has become so strong that hardly anything phases me anymore. I'm not bragging. I actually find it depressing. Back then I thought that I had reached the peak of my endurance from living on the streets and passing Bruce's grueling training sessions, but I was naive.

It's kind of funny. Except its not. I don't really remember why, but I'm very bitter about Bruce's no-kill rule. Well yeah, I remember that he was being hypocritical and ridiculously antagonizing of the methods that I suggested during my rebellious phase as Robin, but back to the point, Bruce had always been very specific with cramming a certain idea in my head. It was weird. Bruce, my mentor, my future partner, one who thrives on close, hand-to-hand combat, insists that violence is a mere tool to be used 'judiciously and without joy.'

I didn't understand his reasons back then, but I do now, and it pisses me off to no end. I'm not one to enjoy causing pain to others-I despise it-but seriously? Those horrid, murdering, raping degenerated filth on the streets-the ones that dirty their hands with the blood of the innocent, though? Forgive me for not being sympathetic to those disgusting holes of humanity. Forgive me. Please, just forgive me!

Why am I so wrong, to bask in the feel of the snapping bones and tearing flesh of those who worship the very thought of someone dying. Call me a hypocrite, call my judgement flawed, but if it protects the innocent I don't give a shit. Why do I have to care about your opinions, Bruce? No, no. I don't, I won't. I can't shut it off. I just want to shut it off. The feeling, the pain of dealing-with this world. This plague of all galaxies.

These same arguments, over and over-I'm tired. I'm spent, and I feel that if I'm not abandoned, that Cerberus will track my scent-drag me down to my final descent-before I reach eternity. I can taste eternity just like I can taste the bitter reminiscence of my life, and it burns. It burns my tongue, it scorches my skin, and I'm not even aware if those familiar, strong arms that carry me to my grave-I go in.

Consider a teacher who requires skills be developed with the very weapons he scorns. I'm being torn apart by fragments of myself-my experiences, my recollection follows betrayal and deception. What will happen if I dare follow the future? Pain, pain, pain, pressure-swallow-burning throat, my throat is burning, reflexes churning, and I choke, gasp, then repeat. Make it stop!

**Betrayal.**

Giggling, "What's with this king-sized coin, anyways?" I ask, padding to Bruce with numb, bare feet. "I mean, I've heard of inflation, but this is ridiculous!" A winning smile stretches across my face. I feel that it isn't my face, with how unfamiliar that expression seems. Did I always have such a baby face?

"Just a memento, Jason. A certain party tried to crush me and Robin with it, but we double crossed him," Bruce replied cautiously behind that masking smile.

"A certain party? You mean Two-Face, don't you? Isn't that thing a giant replica of that coin he's always flippin'?"

"Well, yes-on both accounts,"

I thrash, I feel the ethereal poison splash, the sinful springs cooking my flesh slaps my damaged mind-my body falls back into the pool with an agonizing crash. Will my pain ever end? I've never felt so dirty, so tainted. The streets, Bruce's training-none of it has ever been this painful, this dreadful. It burns, it itches, it reopens all old wounds that had disappeared with imaginary stitches.

"Bruce? I heard plenty of war stories about how you and Robin made suckers outta these would-be masterminds-" big teal green eyes shine with interest and inspiration, eyes that are currently tightly closed within strained eyelids, eyes that have dulled and weakened into false hope and desperation, "but you never once mentioned Two-Face-we never even went over his file...why?"

"Oh," feigned disinterest, "no reason," he says, "just and oversight," he says. Tears prick at my eyes-or maybe it's something else unfamiliarly bitter sucking into my eyeballs.

"Well, fill me in! Ya want my education to be complete, don't cha?" Jason persists, I groan under the pits of despair. Jason-I am rewarded with lies. Dismissal. Typical. Perhaps not the coldest, but still calculated-and I was still manipulated. It wasn't the worst betrayal yet, but it was enough to hurt. It hurts, it hurt, it all hurts and hurt-I feel lower than dirt, although these waters burn away my damage by spurts. I'm scalding, and boiling-with something other than rage.

I scream, it's all so painful and don't know how to speak, else wise I would call for help, for someone to assist me, to end my pain. It hurts so fucking much. It hurts just like it hurts to know just how important being Robin is to me. Being Robin in Gotham's center stage. Being Robin for Bruce's praise.


	7. Chapter 7 - Am I Just Another Dick?

Two-Face is a tragic villain, so Bruce said. Greed isn't the product of his ambitions. He's motivated by madness in every sense of the word. His real name is Harvey Dent. He was, once upon a time, the District Attorney of Gotham City. He and Bruce had been friends-allies even. Dent was the youngest D.A. In the city's history, and no prior prosecutor remotely rivaled his conviction record.

The D.A. took on underground figures who has gone about untouched under the corrupt administration that preceded him. Though critics dismissed him as vain and ambitious, few witnesses could stand up over Dent's corrosive cross-examination-and finally one struck back with his own acid test. So suddenly, pretty boy prosecutor, whose political future seemed so bright, was a hideously disfigured self-parody.

I had wondered myself why Dent didn't just get plastic surgery. A series of operations, over a period of years, would have gradually improved his condition, right? Apparently Dent's scars ran deeper than that. So Bruce said. He became obsessed with that gangster's 'lucky' silver dollar. He carved a crude cross on one side of the coin. In his mind, the pristine side represented good, and the scarred side evil. So he flipped it. When it landed on the marred side up, he made a decision.

"Evil won-he made crime his life's work!" I gasped at Bruce, overwhelmed with something. I refuse to admit that that something was empathy for that rotten turd head!

"Yes-but he frequently flips that very coin to decide whether to commit a crime or not," Bruce added.

At the time I didn't know how Batman dealt with someone so unpredictable, but as Bruce said, he's actually very predictable. His M.O. is the most specific in our-er, Bruce's files. He always bases his crimes based on the number two. It doesn't sound like much to go on, does it?

"A lot of times I didn't pick up on the pattern right away, but Robin could always pick up on it," yeah, but I'm not the same Robin. I'm not Dickhead.

"Yeah, sure-" I wave at him passively, "look, you uh, go hit the showers if you like, I'm going to work out on the bars," so I can be more like Dickhead.

My movements are always far to stiff or heavy to ever match Dick's. I don't like to admit this, but I felt so pressured sometimes, like if I wasn't like Dick I couldn't be Robin, or like if I wasn't good enough to be Robin unless I was like Dick. I hadn't even met the guy and I always heard his name. It made me wonder if I was ever really there in front of Bruce most of the time. Was I just another Dick to him? Er, the little prude in me makes me want to scoff at how that sounded.

All throughout my training, without fail! Dick wouldn't have fell right on his ass, Dick wouldn't have this, wouldn't have that. Dick, Dick, Dick! So much fucking Dick! Wow, I'm not making this any better. Not that any of this could be better.


	8. Chapter 8 - Fuck-Face

My first night out was literally after I received the Robin costume, in case you've paid any attention at all. Anyways, the Robin costume wasn't the original, but and improvement. The tunic is soft body armor, for example. There really aren't too many differences. It belonged to the real Robin though, so Bruce had told me. Asshole.

I met commissioner Gordon that night. I remember how excited I was, riding in the Batmobile beside my mentor as we zoomed through the city streets. Still, I was much more excited to get out on the rooftops. Soon enough we were firing our grappling guns and climbing to the top of the GCPD building. It was nothing like training. The wind teased my curly raven hair, tickling the back of my neck and my forehead.

When using a grapple, it's like bungee jumping, except more dangerous. I had the best looking out for me though, so I was never worried. In fact, I could grapple with or without his help. Shut up, I'm not afraid of heights, never was!

When we reached the source of the Batsignal, I hid in the shadows casually. I didn't like cops much, and I wasn't too excited about meeting the commissioner. Well, I was, but I was more nervous about it than actually excited. I was kinda surprised Batman was still sticking to the shadows too, but then I remembered vigilante, so I figured, oh, I guess cops make everybody nervous.

"Commissioner," Batman growled from behind him, startling the poor sucker.

"Batman! How did you get here so fast?" The guy looked so peeved I held back a squeal of laughter, resulting in a soft noise in the back of my throat.

"We were already on our way," Batman replied.

"We?" Gordon repeated, and I couldn't hold it in anymore. I giggled impishly, stepping out of the shadows.

To be honest I didn't expect to be welcomed. At first it appeared I wouldn't be, with Batman and the Commish trading battling gazes at each other, and whispering something or other. I kept my stupid smile on my face in attempts to ignore the tension, but my jaw started to ache after a while so I let up. Imagine my surprise when Gordon came up to me and offered his hand. "Welcome, Robin. Good luck to you, son," again with the son thing. I winced, but shook his hand anyways.

"Thanks, Commissioner," I force out. It seems I'm not the only one who's tense about this greet. I wondered why the Commish would be so against Robin if he was partners with Batman, but answers don't come that easy so I just let it go. Literally, I let his hand go.

Batman and Gordon then went all about business. "So why the Batsignal, Gordon? It's been a quiet night so far," Batman asked.

"Let's hope it stays that way. Take a look at this," the Commish pulled out an envelope and delivered it to Batman, and he began to examine it. "A messenger delivered it-it wasn't sealed. I took the liberty of taking a peek-"

I know it was rude, but when a deck of playing cards slipped from the envelope's contents, I got excited. "A hand of poker!" I gasped, moving to Batman's side for a closer look. I had been hiding behind him, trying to dodge most of the attention. "What does it mean?"

"What do you think it means, Robin?" Not all sarcastic like, but he was clearly just trying not to exclude me. Or maybe he really needed help. I doubt it.

"Maybe I just have Two-Face on the brain tonight," I rubbed my chin habitually, "but I'd say the former D.A. is announcing his intention to get back in the game," I nodded to myself.

"Two pair. You could be right,"

"I'm almost sure he's right-check these out," the Commish handed Batman four photos, all of which mug shots of petty criminals.

"But why two of each?" I ask thoughtfully, "why twins?"

"A pair of twins," Gordon answered, "the Dopple Brothers from Cleveland, and the Rorrim Boys from St. Paul-parol violators all, and spotted in Gotham City this week!"

Batman nodded, giving the photos back to the Commish. He gave me a look that I read easily. "Oh, wow. Hey Commish! Look at what I can do!" I bounced to him energetically, making whooshing noises and spreading my arms out like a plane, then dived down the fire escape. I joined Batman inside the Batmobile shortly after. It was obnoxious, but whatever.

"You think Two-Face is gathering a gang?"

"Yes,"

"When do you think he'll pull his first caper?"

"Well, he had that message delivered tonight-so I'd say just about now,"

So Bruce and I made our way to The Lucky Dollar Casino. When we arrived, there was a huge ruckus. No surprise. Two-Face had to be nuts. He was threatening armed security guards. He was surrounded, what could he do?

"Not as many armed security guards as unarmed casino patrons," I hear him say all the way from outside, "now turn both of your carts over to my boys,"

"No way, ugly-you're surrounded!"

"Joe!" Panic. My eyes widened behind my mask. I heard gunshots.

Batman and I had finished tying up and securing some of Two-Face's goons inside of these two armored Finks cars when their voices rang just for behind the door.

Batman kicked the door unceremoniously, knocking the gun away from Two-Face. I decided to get in on the action, appearing between two of Two-Face's goons. "Well, well-" I smirked, "it's Huey and Dewey," I puffed out my chest mockingly, "looking for Lewie?"

They weren't impressed. Oh well, I tried. "Get outta here, kid, before you get-"

I slammed my fist in both of their groins, then knocked their heads together. "Hurt?" I finished, nudging Dewey with my pixie booted foot. Two-Face was freaking out.

"How did you figure this?! You don't prowl this turf!"

"Your poker-hand message suggested a gambling motif for your score-"

"And this is the biggest casino in this side of Vegas! The Lucky Dollar! Yet, it made it all the more worth the look!" I added.

"Well thought out, gentlemen-but you overlooked one thing-" Two-Face was moving. Not necessarily struggling in the security guard's grip, but something else-he had another trick up his sleeve! "I always carry **two **guns!" With that he held some old lady-I still wanna know where the hell she came from-hostage. "Now, everyone! Step aside! I'm just looking for an excuse to shoot someone for a second time tonight!"

Dammit all! "Wait! Don't! Take me as your hostage! Let her go!" I growl defensively, "I'm just a kid! You can handle me!" I glare at him from behind my white lenses, "besides," smirk, "just think of the power you'd have over Batman," a deeper smirk, "better yet; I'm the **second** Robin-think of it! So fitting!"

"Yes," Two-Face agreed, "it's almost too ironic," and to hell if I don't love me some irony. I switched places with the lady, leaning into Two-Face's torso almost-hell, not even almost-mockingly.

"Clear a path for me, Batman! I've got the perfect hostage. If you follow us, I'll put a bullet right in his scrawny red breast!" Boy hostage moment number one. This is was like a walk in the park. Like a friendly little outing. Soon, Two-Fuck led me to an old alleyway, and to his shitty car, which he loved so dearly for some ungodly reason."Here's my customized Two-door! Do you like it?"

I rubbed my chin, feigning deep thought. "It's **too** much," I muttered disdainfully. He didn't like my response, so he shoved me in the passenger's seat, then climbed in the driver's seat himself. Dumbass was still pointing that gun at me. "Now I must warn you," how thoughtful of him, "I'm not a nice man," wow, I never gathered that, detective's protege or not, "if you try anything at all, you're a dead bird," and what does that make you, Ass-Face?

"I understand. Like you wouldn't want me to hit the breaks or anything," I do just that, careful to smile as sweetly as I could.

"Huh?" The dumbass just sits there in awe that he'd shot the rear view window on accident while I make my way out of the door.

I fumble to the side of the road, and he speeds away in hopes to escape pursuit of any kind. A bright, hot pink convertible pulls over, and Batman slips out. "That isn't the Batmobile," I remarked.

"I commandeered a civilian car,"

"Nice," I groaned, rubbing a sore spot. "So we gather our bearings?"

He nodded. "Sounds like a plan."


	9. Chapter 9 - Ori-Face

"Have the state police found Two-Face?" I ask, carefully shedding my domino mask. We had returned to the Batcave.

"Not yet. They're not having any better luck than we are,"

"We'll catch that loon!" I assured.

"Yes, we will," Bruce held a finger in front of me, "but that hostage exchange tonight was foolhardy," he scolded.

"So did I flunk the test?" My face fell.

"Hardly. The other Robin would have done the same thing," Bruce smiled, "you really are two of a kind," I gave him my biggest winning grin. For once, being compared to the other Robin wasn't so insulting.

"Wow, thanks Bruce. Say, can I stay up awhile and do some homework?"

"Go ahead-you're bound to be a little wired after all that," I sat down at a computer chair, getting comfortable. "But do get some rest, alright?"

"Yeah, alright," I nodded.

Some time after Bruce left, I examined some of our files. Truth be told, I'd finished any homework I had before patrol, but Bruce didn't need to know that. Besides, I wanted to get to know my good old pal, Fuck-Face. I skimmed through his file, brow furrowing in concentration. Apparently the freak has a personality disorder of some sort, mentions of his crimes, his M.O. Then my jaw slackened, and my mouth hung agape.

Willis Todd, murdered; suspect Two-Face.

What? No way. Bruce lied to me? Shit. Fuck! No. Why? Suddenly I felt sick-feel sick. I stood up. I needed to shed the costume for now. I needed to be Jason Todd. So I changed, and headed to my room. I leapt into my bed, and hid under the covers.

I didn't notice the time that passed by. Before I knew it, Alfred was checking up on me for the second time that morning. He served me breakfast in bed, not prying for answers. I loved-love that about Alfred. He expressed disdain for the fact that I had barely touched my food, but he left it alone, taking the dishes and exiting my room without another word. He and I had a connection. Then again, Alfred just connects to everybody. He's quiet but not outspoken. He knows all, it seems like. It's kind of comforting in a way. Not comforting enough to pull me out of my stupor, but still welcome.

It wasn't until Bruce came in late that afternoon that I regained my senses. I was close to crying, but I was also done crying in front of Bruce. I was-am? I am, or maybe I was, independent for the most part.

"Jason-are you awake?"

"Yes," I grumbled.

"I know you had a rough first night. Being Robin to my Batman is demanding," especially if you're not Dick Grayson, huh, Bruce? "At any rate, I'm about to go out on patrol, and if you're interested, our two-faced friend is at it again," I sat up. Bruce had my undivided attention now. I rubbed the congestion from my fiery eyes. "A daylight bank robbery this time," is this a display of reluctant trust? Regardless, I get out of bed for the first time all day, following him to the cave in my pajamas. I didn't make my bed, either. Alfred would have a cow, but I couldn't find the energy to care.

I changed my wardrobe, and waited for Bruce and Alfred to finish their conversation at the Batmobile. Most likely discussing how listless I was. Well fine, they can just take their goddamn time talking about my problems, or Bruce could get the car started and we could go stop Fuck-Face from hurting anyone. Hurting anyone like my father. I had someone to take my anger out on. I didn't hate myself, but Fuck-Face. It felt so much better, too. It was still miserable, but it doesn't matter because I can numb myself to misery. I have, actually. For the most part. What I was feeling then wasn't even close to the misery I feel now, but all I can do is deal-something I am admittedly awful at.

Bruce finally finished gabbing, and we got in the car. "Will he strike again tonight?"

"Two-Face? No. At least, it's unlikely. I think we'll have until tomorrow to find out where he plans to hit next," I nodded lightly. "His pattern, of course, is that his crimes are always based on the number two-today's second national bank hit, for instance,"

"How do you explain the Lucky Dollar Casino heist, then? Where's the two in that?" I spat back, moodily. Bruce parked the Batmobile, and we were finally taking to the rooftops and firing our grappling guns.

"That gambling clue was a poker hand showing two pair-"

"Not enough," I barked irritably. You can say Bruce was a genius or whatever you wanted about the guy, but honestly, sometimes he's true to the saying 'blind as a bat.' I peered down the city streets beside him, spotting some shady activity. Great, somebody-or somebodies to beat up.

"There were two security guards hauling money, and two armored cars,"

"Why'd he vary his M.O.?" I questioned, "we're missin' somethin',"

"If so, we'd better find it before tomorrow," we leapt from the rooftops and took chase, laying the beatdown on some deserving thugs as we pursued our targets, and ultimately received word that Two-Face planned a heist at some baseball game.

Bruce was ahead of me, but that wasn't gonna stop me. I had to get to Two-Face. As it turned out, Bruce beat him up and left him with me, in favor of chasing somebody else.

I couldn't think about anything other than the father I barely got to know, my mother, who was too weak to nurture even herself, and then the parasite kissing and crawling at the floor below me as my gloved hands closed around his throat, blocking the vile exhale of poison breath from his greedy lungs. "You-you lowlife slime ball! You murdering, shit breathing orifice! Ori-face!" He tried to pry my hands off, the taint licking douche nozzle! "I'll kill you! Force-feed you a platter of gorilla tits and-ugh!" I gasped for breath. The fucking fuckass fucker knee'd me in the ribs! I was vaguely aware of Batman calling before Shit-Face's fist connected with my cheekbone.

I collapsed to my knees while the spineless fuckwit coward flee'd the scene. Bruce was about to help me up, but he was wasting precious time! "Get him? What are you waiting for?" I growl and he makes chase. When I recovered, I followed and met Bruce.

"Robin! Are you alright?"

"Did he get away?"

"Yes, a car was waiting," I scowled, "we have to talk, but not here,"

"Batman!" Oh, so the commish was here too. Bruce probably bought his tickets. "I can't believe this! Why would even a fruitcake like Two-Face plan an escape route like this?"

"I worked, didn't it? Anyways, I'm sure it was a backup plan,"

"Tck, figures," I scoffed, "of course he'd have a secondary route lined up!"

The drive back to the Batcave was in silence. Bruce didn't push anything yet, and I was deep in thought.

**Betrayal.**

**/Author's Note: I'm really glad I'm not one of you readers. Every time I go to write about the deep emotional, physical, and mental limits characters go through I tend to make it so easy to picture and empathize with whatever the character is going through that it hurts, but it brings a certain pleasurable annihilation to the foundation of my being. Jason was always that kind of character without my intervention, so you poor things must be really feeling it. Well, I'm not talking about this chapter specifically, more like chapter five and six. Maybe the next one will be like that, I don't know.**


	10. Chapter 10 - Pain of Pride

"All right, Jason," Bruce began, pulling the cowl down, revealing his sternest expression, "it's time to explain yourself,"

"I answer to nobody!" I snap defensively, tossing my mask to the cave's floor carelessly.

"Spare me the tough street kid routine," Bruce argued, "I invested time in you," really? He was gonna play that card?

"Yeah, yeah," I drawled, disinterested and dismissive. I couldn't meet his gaze, his disapproval. I couldn't just stand there and watch his disappointment. I wouldn't.

"You blew it back there! Everything I taught you went out the window! You completely lost your cool!" Wonderful. He's playing all the cards. "Months of training-I took you into my home, my world, to share a secret, sacred trust-"

"Trust? Don't make me laugh!" Really, he made me cry. I lose my cool once and suddenly, I'm not grateful for everything he's done. I'm not trustworthy. "I looked up Fuck-Face on your fancy computer-something else you taught me how to do!" My voice cracked into a sob. "I saw it-" a desperate gulp of air, "how my father was killed, murdered, by Two-Face!" Before I knew it, I was throwing my fists at him, weakened by my own racking sobs. I felt so pathetic, I was filth. I was disgusting, and I just hated myself for degenerating to this. "I had a right to know-why?" Jason and I sputter tears and poison. Which am I? "Why did you keep this from me?"

Bruce calms him, squeezing his shoulders, a silent plea -a request to explain himself. When did this end? Would he explain things to me like before if I asked? "No wonder you lost it, Jason. I was wrong," Jason sniffles, wrinkling his nose like I do when I'm disgusted or annoyed. "But I was trying to protect you," Bruce rectifies.

"Protect me?" The tears are still streaming down my face, flushed with boiling blood-not too different from right now. I feel as if I'm boiling alive-but it isn't just my temper cooking. "You send me out into combat-but you spare me of this?"'Ah, young Jason, you're learning Batlogic. Congrats.

"This is harder than combat, son," my nose itches at his words, "fighting comes easy to the young-learning how to temper revenge into justice-well, that's hard even for an adult," you would fucking know! The bruise on my cheek-on Jason's cheek-it fucking hurts! "You carried uncontrolled rage into battle tonight, and that's why you lost," is it why I'm burning? Is my own rage a punishment from above?

"Am I washed up as Robin?" Yes. I am, Jason. As are you. We can't be Dickhead.

"Hey, Two-Face beat me too," not literally. "Next time we'll both keep our heads," not really.

Jason brightened considerably. Me? I'm still miserable, thanks. "And maybe even use 'em!" As it turns out, Jason had a hunch about what Two-Face was planning. "I've been thinking," which is hard to do right now, "what's stoppin' Ori-Face from robbing the Lucky Dollar again?" Jason pondered. "I betcha that's where he'll hit next!"

I remember the disgustingly sweet sight of Two-Face's shocked expression when Bruce and I wiped the floor with his lackey. It was enough. Seeing him behind bars would be enough satisfaction for me. It's all I needed. So I thought. "How did you know?" He screeched.

I smirked venomously, shoving my pointer finger in his direction. "What? That you'd pull your first robbery a second time?" I scoffed, "don't be daft. It was the only way the casino heist would even fit into your deuced pattern, poon!"

The coward just starts running again. He climbs the stairs to the world's largest roulette wheel, shoving and empty cart at Bruce to slow him down, but I was hot at his heels-that is, until he pulled out a gun. Bruce had caught up to me, but we were still sitting ducks, as Two-Face had pointed out. Bruce ordered some guy to press a button, and he did. The wheel spun around and around, until the giant ball came crashing down, headed straight for Two-Face. Acting quickly, I dove into the air and knocked the giant ball away from him with a momentous kick-just enough to make it rebound. Really Bruce? Did you not think about the ball? I watched with beaming satisfaction as Two-Face spun around and around with the wheel, until it came to a halt. I could watch that forever.

"You know," I said from Batman's side, watching as Two-Face was shoved into a police car, "he may be seeing double, but I think I'm finally seeing things straight." A sinking pain in my chest elicits dry coughs from my scorching throat as Jason basks in that approving look-that pride that shone in Bruce's lips slight quirk upwards.

I long for those old days.

**/Author's note: Don't you guys love it when I'm sick? All this time to write for ya! Hehe, I do admittedly. Even if I'm close to hacking up my organs! How does it go? Deck the halls of bowels and holly? I could puke out my intestines right now! And I am loving it! **

**...God I need help.**


	11. Chapter 11 - Better Robin

Over my run as Robin, I was admittedly brash and impertinent. Sometimes, and I'll deny it if its ever mentioned again, I could be impetuous and maladroit. Contrary to popular belief, I'm far more a victim of the latter. More scatterbrained. Oh what, it didn't happen that often! In fact, it only happened like twice or something. I only remember the night I'd successfully tailed a dealer to a coke lab. Not a pleasant night.

I remember being elated, proud of myself. I mean, I was Robin, and I was finally successful with something. Even moreover, I did it all by myself! Sure, the big boss man wasn't too keen about me going out by myself, but eventually I convinced mama bear to let his cub taste what it's like in the wild kingdom. And holy industrialism, it's still wild out there. Proof is the animals I'd hunted. I should have known it wasn't the time to go over metaphors. It didn't occur to me that I was being careless until somebody hit me in the head. I guess I was lucky he didn't hit me hard enough to knock me out, but unlucky enough to make such a careless mistake.

At that moment, when I was shooting through the stars-I wonder how that even works, I was atop a roof, and all of a sudden-pain. I should have known a setup like that would have guards outside. Sloppy, sloppy job, Jason. Ugh, I heard it enough from myself, I dreaded what the time boss man would utter those exact words-that toxic disappointment would just kill me inside-if this guy didn't first. I was too disoriented to fight back, and I was getting my ass whooped big time. I fell through the window I had been spying through, and suddenly I'm surrounded. Great, more injuries. My legs were cut up by the glass and I had a few splinters to boot. I swear I can feel that familiar sting-and that all-too familiar painful itch only more so, now, too.

More weapons. A nun chuck, a pocket knife, a baseball bat. Seems familiar enough. In fact, at this point I think the heavens are mocking me. Then coincidently-oh the irony-I hear noises from above, and then that guy who beat me up is suddenly falling right towards me. I leapt away from his inevitable collision course, and nearly choke on the air I desperately needed at that moment. My mouth hung open limply at the sight. Heaven was mocking me indeed. Fuck me.

"My name's Nightwing! I may not be the gent you were expecting, but let me assure you," the new guy roared, a tornado of fury whipping across the room-not really, but it sure as hell felt that way! "Like him, I'm the stuff of nightmares," wow, was this guy serious? His costume or whatever looked like a circus getup! Well, I wasn't anybody to talk, but, case and point! "So don't be stupid! Play it cool, and you may just walk away with this with all of your teeth!" Wow, now that we know each other, should I take that as a threat? I swear, my knight in circus getup or not, he's pretty much ignored me. Unless he means me too. What was this guy's gig?

"Don't get tough with us, dude!" Some black fool pointed his dirty finger at me, "we ain't the one who got caught trespassing!"

"What?!" They're making coke, and trespassing's the issue here? "What are you trying to pull? Any fool can see that this is a cocaine processing lab!"

"Oh yeah?Then where's the blow?"

"I believe my young friend has made a mistake," Nightwing cut in.

"But...but!" It was no use, the big lug wasn't paying attention. Pointedly ignoring me, the prick!

"Here," he pulled a roll of dollar bills out of nowhere, the pretty boy, "this should more than cover the damages, any objections?" He grabbed me by the forearm, bullishly dragging me about, "I didn't think so," I struggled without fruition.

"We can't leave! I mean-"

He tugged on my arm more forcefully, "don't say a word," I let out a defeated sound, reluctantly following his lead outside.

"Now what was all of that about, pal?" I whispered huskily.

"Just saving you from making a fatal mistake, shorty," he scowled.

"Mistake?!" I seethed.

"You can't bust anyone for possession if there isn't any dope to be found," he snapped, his back to me. Oh no, he was not just walking away!

"We didn't even search the place! How do you know there's no coke there?" I argued, running after him.

"Because you can smell an active processing lab a mile off!" He gnarled, "those guys are waiting for a raw material, the refined coca pastes!" I try to simmer down, but the fact that he's yelling at me doesn't help. "My sources tell me it's not due to arrive until tomorrow night. Now that you've spooked them, they'll probably switch to another lab!"

I give him my best winning smile, but he just avoids eye contact. "Then it's no big deal! We'll just locate their new digs, then bust 'em when they take possession!"

"Wrong!" He gets all up in my face and I flinch, "I'll locate the new lab all by myself, while you," he shoves his pointer finger in my face, "will go home and tell Batman how you screwed up tonight!"

"Aw, come on," I repine meekly.

He just stalks off again, leaving me shuddering in my pixie-boots. "Tell Bruce we have to talk, and that I'll stop by the cave tomorrow,"

"Bruce?" I blink. "Cave?" That meant-no way. Nightwing was the first Robin? Dick Grayson.

I told Bruce during our usual weight-lifting workout the next morning. "Got any idea what he wants?" I asked.

"Maybe," that's a telling answer. Then again, it seemed I'd have to be more obvious about my question.

"He doesn't-like, maybe-want his old job back, does he?"

"No. Dick's tour of duty as Robin is a thing of the past. He's got a new life now. I imagine what he wants to talk about is more personal. You'd better get showered and off to school,"

I headed to the showers reluctantly. Another question was biting at my ass, but no way would I receive a straight answer. Isn't coming back to this city to find that there's a new Robin kinda personal? I winced as the cold showers shocked me out of my stupor. To be honest I was really tired after patrol last night. Usually I can operate in little sleep, but I had been thinking about all that had transpired, and about my predecessor. I didn't expect him to be so irritable. _Maybe there was something about me being Robin that I'm missing? Whatever, I'll just be a better Robin than he was, and he'll see! They all will. _

**Author's Note: You know guys, the more I look back at Jason when he first met Dick, the more I realize about his reasons for abhorring Tim. Not only did Bruce replace him, but Dick was open about Tim being Robin, and even treated him like a little brother. Then there's the way Tim was easily capable of being friends with the Titans, which Jason never could manage because everybody treated him like Dick. Let's just say I have a slightly different plan for Jason's time with the Titans, but that's a ways away. Happy reading! I hope you guys are as excited about my ideas as I am!**


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